23 February

My Wolf Man Cane Is On The Way: The Psychology Of Aging. Go Figure.

by Jon Katz

For a couple of years now, I’ve understood that because of the shape of my left foot, I will need a cane to get around safely and ensure I keep my balance as I age.

The arch in that foot has essentially collapsed, throwing off my balance and causing other problems. I tilt.

Those are not good dynamics for a big and tall man. Falling, which I used to do regularly,  is no longer an option.

I’ve put off getting a cane; it seemed the ultimate symbol of old age. It was a line I was having trouble crossing. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I can always kid myself that I look young when I get around, but walking with a cane is a statement.

I believe in radical acceptance, but that doesn’t always mean I can do it. There’s no turning back with a cane. My foot is so weird I used a club on one of my book tours (and with a rod, you can get on a plane early.)

But after the book tour, I stopped using it. I don’t need it all the time, but I will need it occasionally.

When I announced this to Maria, she lit up and said: “if you’re getting a cane, you ought to get a Werewolf Cane, like the one in Lon Cheney’s werewolf movie. That would be so cool.”

It was a brilliant idea, coming to someone who understands how to get me to love getting a cane rather than dreading it. How wonderful to be finally known.

If I’m creative about aging, I realize I will be easier with it. I want to make it work for me.

I can’t wait for the cane to come (estimated delivery date March 9). And I can’t wait to walk with it. That’s pretty amazing to me.

I started stalking the Internet for the right can days before finding what I wanted. There was a bronze wolf head I loved, but it was more than $300. Mine was less than $200.

My cane is a custom-made, black cane with a wolf’s head at the top made by artisans just outside Llanwelly, Wales, where the Werewolf movie was filmed and supposedly took place—the perfect place for me to get one made for me.

A “wolf’s head” cane, as they are called, is simply a walking stick fitting with a metal handle in the shape of a wolf’s head. You can get the wolf’s head in metal, gold, silver, or bronze. I can afford metal.

These canes are supposed to ward off – and kill, if necessary – all kinds of evil spirits.

This cane became famous in 1941 in the classic Universal Pictures movie The Wolf Man, one of the best so-called “horror” movies ever made.

The protagonist was a tragic figure named Lary Talbot, as played by Cheney, the perfect person for the role. This was one of my all-time favorite movies; I must have seen it hundreds of times.

Talbot returned to Wales to attend the funeral of his brother.

He had no interest in canes, but he bought a wolf’s head cane for $15 to flirt with Gwen Conliffe, who ran an antique store in the village.

Talbot showed it to his grumpy father, Sir John Talbot, who complained that it was just an “old walking stick.”

That same evening Talbot was walking with the stick that he suddenly needed to use to drive off a wolf that had attacked a local girl in the village.

He bludgeoned the wolf to death and later found out that the silver in the handle killed the animal. The creature was a werewolf named Bela.

While fending off the fatal attack, Bela bit Talbit, and he now had the curse of lycanthropy, where bitten human beings turn into wolves at the full moon and become unwilling killers.

It was the same wolf’s stick that Larry’s father, Sir John, was forced to use on his son when he was  transformed into a werewolf.

Talbog was a tragic character, a good man looking for love who never meant to harm anyone but couldn’t help himself.

He helped bring about his death in order to spare others. Chaney had the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen in a movie.

So I’m getting a cane, thanks to Hollywood and Maria. And I can’t wait. Sometimes, I confound myself.

 

 

 

 

31 October

Biddy, The Queen Of The Sheep. And Fate, Who Will Not Herd Her Or Come Too Close

by Jon Katz

Biddy is the queen of the Bedlam Farm sheep. There is no timidity in here; she takes no guff from anyone, looks me straight in the eye dares me to take her picture.

Behind her is Fate, our herding dog from a champion herding lin Wales, the only border collie I know who loves sheep too much to herd them. Fate is a great dog, a wonderful dog for Maria.

Biddy pays her no mind at all, and if the photo suggests that Fate is herding her, don’t be taken in. Fate keeps her distance from Biddy, whose very stare sends her scampering off.

No mere dog herds her or tells her what to do. Even the Great Red didn’t push her too far.

Fate is the Ferdinand of border collies; she loves to run around sheep and be with sheep; she’s just missing a few and the nasty part of prey drive and doesn’t get that she’s supposed to be in charge of them and push them around.

The breeder suggests that this is my fault, which could be so. Dog people, like baseball players, are doing great if they hit the ball 40 percent of the time.

She never liked that idea as a puppy, and I am glad I gave up on it. It would have driven her mad. At this point, Buddy would butt her across the pasture if she got fresh.

There couldn’t be a better dog-animal match than Maria and Fate; they march to the beat of their drums and love one another deeply and profoundly.

Where is Jack London when we need him?

Biddy would have none of that match dog collie stuff, and Fate is happy to walk behind her, keep out of her way, and look officious as if she is running the show.

I love the photo.  Talk about iconic.

15 September

Fate At Rest. At Night, The Wolf Comes Out

by Jon Katz

Fate is rarely still during the day. It’s rare to get a photograph of her when she isn’t moving. At night, it’s different, she turns herself over to the night, and the wolf in her becomes visible.

Of all dogs, border collies are closest to the wolf in genetics and behavior. This is one reason sheep are so obedient around them (except for Fate, who is missing that particular gene.); they get the wolf part.

Fate loves to be around the sheep but isn’t keen on herding them or disciplining them when they blow her off.

She is from a champion herding line in Wales; somehow, that didn’t all take. It could be my fault, but Fate defied me every effort at training. I decided to let Fate be Fate.

Fate is the most wonderful companion for Maria; the two are always together, even out in the woods. Fate is perhaps the smartest dog we’ve had; Rose and Red were close. When she’s in Maria’s studio, which is often, she never touches or disturbs the fabrics that are all over the floor.

I enjoy my series of photos of Fate at rest; she is unique in every way, and at night, the wolf shows itself.

5 September

Fate In The Dog Bed: Dead Or Alive? Or Just Resting. Another First

by Jon Katz

Fate is an individual if nothing else. She always has her own unique way of doing things, even sleeping. Last night, I looked over and saw her in Zinnia’s dog bed (of course), and at first, I was alarmed. The dogs and other animals I’ve seen do that are usually dead.

I got closer, and Fate was snoring peacefully. For dogs, that is a position of extreme vulnerability. Fate obviously trusts where she is. And she had a good long nap. It’s another first from a dog who shows a lot of firsts (she’s a border collie from Wales who doesn’t like to herd sheep.)

2 May

Four Books I’m Reading: The Rise Of Elon Musk, A Family Fights To Survive in Glasgow, Delicious Palace Intrigue, And The Truth About People We Love

by Jon Katz

The stack of books I’m reading or planning to read is growing. It changes almost every other day; I’m drowning in books I’m loving or sharing with you. I’m falling behind but will read every page.

This posting about my books has become a tradition I love, and from my messages, it’s appreciated.

I’m halfway through Rosie Walsh’s runaway mystery, The Love Of My Life, a book that will keep me on my toes and asks this question: do we know the people we love, marry and live with? I’m hooked.

This book is wonderfully well-plotted, and I’m not sure anyone in it, including a dog named John Keats, is really who they seem to be. I’m halfway through; I’m hooked and aren’t close to guessing it.

I’m going back and forth between Walsh’s book and the literary masterpiece Shuggie Bain by Douglas Stewart, a winner of England’s Booker Prize, perhaps the most prestigious award in all publishing. This is one of the best-written books I’ve ever read.

Shuggie Bain is a powerful, brilliantly written, and devastating book about a young gay man and his alcoholic mother fighting to survive and love each other in Glasgow during the 1980s.

The book is a remarkable chronicle of what it means to be gay, poor, and abandoned in one of the Western world’s poorest and most violent cities during a difficult time.

I’m halfway through, and I love every page, even though I take occasional brief breaks from it. The term can be overused, but this book is a masterpiece.

I got Tina Brown’s new book on the British Royal family’s painfully infamous troubles with women, from Camilla to Diana to Megan and Kate (and their husbands) and the woman who tried to control them,  Elizabeth – The Palace Papers: Inside the House of Windsor – the Truth and the Turmoil.

Some people might dismiss Brown’s thorough, revealing, and sensational story of these royal women as yet another gossipy exploitation of the Royal Family.  But Brown is a first-rate journalist, fact-driven, meticulous, thorough and knowledgeable.

This is much deeper than another tabloid tell-all.

It is a study of women in power and how difficult the world makes their lives. It is a story of love, ambition, loss, and human pain, all revolving around a thousand-year-old institution covered in dust and ritual and forever caught off guard and by surprise in modern times.

But I’m deep into it and like it a lot.

Brown, the former editor of the New Yorker Magazine, is a brilliant writer and a terrific reporter, the perfect formula for writing a much deeper book than it might seem to be, or then royal family books often are.

This is no gossip fest; it’s severe and well-researched and an essential book about our times and the deepening struggle of an ancient institution to survive in 2022.

Queen Elizabeth is likely to die soon, and there is a growing concern and speculation about whether the monarchy can survive her loss. Brown offers the most comprehensive study of what goes on inside those walls that I’ve yet to read.

There is plenty of riveting and fresh gossip that breaks through the protective wall that shrouds the most famous family in the world.

Still, this book is also a well-reported and credible story about women and the complexity and struggle of becoming famous. Every detail of their lives is raked over by the primarily male journalists dying to make them look bad and profit from it. Against them are a dusty, stuffy, cloistered Army of Palace Protectors of a Queen desperately trying to stop them, usually failing.

A thousand years ago, she could have banished all of them to some castle in Wales if they dared to challenge her. Now, she has to call strategy meetings with publicists.

As Brown points out, the Queen is the whole enterprise; to steal attention from her is heresy. Nothing is more important than here. Megan doesn’t see it that way; as Brown clarifies, nothing is more important than her.

And that is the core of the challenge facing the modern monarchy. If you can get Oprah to interview you and take your side, you are among the most influential people in the world.

Brown beats up almost everyone in the book except Camilla, Duchess of Cornwall; her husband Charles is the heir apparent to Queen Elizabeth, the next King of England, if his mother ever does die. In journalism, we understand that the people who are not skewered in revelatory books (think Bob Woodward) are invariably the ones who are telling tales.

Camilla, a possible future Queen, was unscathed. Nobody else in this saga was.

As portrayed in this serious, persuasive, and titillating book, the challenge for Queen Elizabeth is that her children and family and their partners – from Diana to Meghan to Charles to Andrew –  are as famous (or infamous) as she is, and much more interesting, if less respected.

While she keeps true to her determination to be the most reliable, dependable, and guarded public figure on the earth, her family can’t seem to go along with the program. She can’t chop off their heads any more; she has to watch almost helplessly as they get tangled in scandals or tell all to Oprah or defy and ignore her.

Times have changed; the Queen and her courtiers spend much of their time doing damage control on behalf of the young, the perverted, the foolish, and the ambitious. Who wants to live like that anymore if there’s a choice? You can’t control these people anymore!

Brown skewers Megan and Harry as self absurd and greedy brats who left the Royal Family and their duties for Netflix and a California mansion. They are seen as a betrayal. Megan perfected the role of the helpless victim of racism, and Harry is portrayed as emotionally unstable and self-pitying.

Megan, as Brown saw her was a brooding, power-crazed, volatile adolescent. And the racial context of her conflicts with the Palace was often too honest.

She could never understand the Palace, and the Palace – almost entirely white and subservient –  could never understand her. Neither side had any context for dealing with the other.

The monarchy is in trouble – the CEO of the enterprise, writes Brown, is nearly 100 years old, and her successor is well into his 70s.

No wonder they can’t figure out how to handle the young and the scheming and dissatisfied outsiders their children always seem to fall in love with.

These people still believe they are here because God put them here to rule over their people. Feminism, disloyalty, plotting and scheming, indiscretions and revelations, and media manipulation are centuries behind their coping abilities.

Diana left the family hating Charles and the rest of them, and she paid them back with a media payback campaign that went on for years. She knew she was more popular than any of them and used it as a weapon again and again. Charles, constantly stuffy and awkward (and in love with someone else since he was 21), was no match for his bitter ex-wife.

I can’t wait to keep reading this book.

Today, another book I’m dying to read arrived in the mail. This is Ashlee Vance’s much-praised biography of Elon Musk: Tesla, SpaceX, and the Quest For a Fantastic Future.

This is the best time to read this book as Musk has traumatized media and its pundits over his apparent purchase of Twitter. (My blog posts to Twitter, but there isn’t enough money to get me to post there.) My personal opinion is that the importance of Twitter is radically overblown.

Mostly, the tweeters talk to one another.

Journalists and media ideologues are desperate to label Musk; he is either the earth’s savior through his electric cards or a demon extremist eager to bring the pedophiles, liars, and conspiracy theorists back to Twitter.

But this is a person allergic to labels, and no label, political or otherwise, fits him.  He loves Twitter and is an almost obsessed Tweeter. True to the spirit of Twitter, he is often cruel and cutting in his tweets. Why not? So is everyone else?

He is an original thinker; he thinks for himself and is not afraid to Tweet wildly and irresponsibly about it, just like Mr. Trump.

Musk had done more to fight climate change than anyone else in the world and, at the same time, rushes to defend Donald Trump when he was kicked off of Twitter for being a chronic liar and treasonous hypocrite.

Musk is a hero to millions of young people worldwide and has 80 million followers on Twitter. He is a hero to more people than any other public figure in America, including Donald Trump.

Musk’s posts make Donald Trump look like the corrupt and hopeless old fart that he is. I wonder if my former colleagues in the media will ever figure out that Trump is over, as stale as a five-day-old fish. Musk, for all his faults, is very much alive.

I haven’t read the book yet, but Musk is the most fascinating of the small but growing Army of Billionaires eager to own our media, our culture, and perhaps our politics.

Yes, the billionaires are taking over the public institutions and ideas that bind us or once did, from Fox News to The Washington Post to outer space to the Atlantic to the Los Angeles Times, and now to Twitter (did I forget to mention Mark Zuckerberg?

Musk is the most exciting visionary of the bunch. I do not doubt that he will defy any label people might want to put on him and bless him.

His life is all about doing things everyone else believed impossible to do.

He’s made electric cars the most popular cars globally, steamrolling and humiliating giants like GM and Ford. He might save the planet.

He’s revived space and space travel all by himself (Jeff Bezos is out there too). Now he says he has an idea for re-imaging and radically improving Twitter, now one of the most central and influential information entities in the world.

If successful, he could transform the very idea of modern media. I doubt he will turn the site over to the far right or the far light. Nothing would make him happier (or me, for that matter) than for the extremes at either end of the spectrum to hate him equally.

Musk is not only playing with the big boys now; he is just about to be the biggest boy of them all.

I don’t know what to make of him,  except that his accomplishments are staggering, and I am eager to read Ashlee Vance’s reportedly excellent account of who he is, where he comes from, and how he has accomplished what he has accomplished.

I see Musk as a genius, a true visionary,  an idiot savant, and an insecure adolescent who, like Steve Jobs, sees well into the future, is ruthless and unforgiving to stupidity, failure, and incompetence. Of course, he is dangerous. But he is also capable of great things, as he has already proven.

He is way too smart to be a tool of one side. What would the point of that be for such an independent thinker and sometimes mystic? He does seem to see the future. He might end up owning it.

Musk doesn’t think that small, for better or worse. Labels are about people who don’t wish to think. Musk is all about thinking.

So this book is very welcome to me; I can’t wait to read it. This is someone I want to understand. I hope to get a sense of him.

So I’ve got some great reading to do—a stack of riches.

Now, all I have to do is make time for it.

Bedlam Farm